Ria__
Lord of Altera
- Pronouns
- She/Her
1. What is your Minecraft username?
Ria____
2. How old are you?
19
3. What country are you from?
USA
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yep.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is when characters have knowledge that they shouldn't have in character, usually from out of character.
Powergaming is when a character does things they shouldn't be able to do. This includes high power level "Goku" esque insanity and having excessive knowledge for your character.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Nope. No X-Ray or unfair ore-mining mods/resource packs.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
223Hero7
8. Tell us about yourself!
I'm Ria. Nineteen, living in NYC. Going to college currently, do a lot of writing and roleplay. A filthy bisexual communist with an inferiority complex...I'm basically typing a tinder bio at this point.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I write a lot, but it's all sci-fi. So, uh...Irrelevant I guess.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
Ambillis wouldn't shush about it.
Character Name:
Paprika Caraway, "Pappy Paprika"
Character Age:
81
Character Race:
Human
Appearance:
A really short old man, with a sleek wooden cane. His hair is a dull white-grey, with ashy brown skin and distant grey-blue eyes. He wears a coat that used to be considered a split-flared waistcoat, but due to his habitual hunched stature and slowly decreasing height, now covers down to his knees.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test!
A fire crackled in the front of the room, casting a dull light on a man in a rocking chair. Paprika lets out a drawn-out sigh, raising a bushy eyebrow as he watches the fire. A letter was delivered today, by some scrawny kid who looked like he hadn’t eaten in a month. His chair was comfortable, well worn but obviously loved. The letter sits on a counter across the room, in a pile of bread crumbs, various glass bottles, and a few different pans. It was glaringly obvious that he should read the letter...but he doesn't particularly feel like it. Not today, or tomorrow. Too much effort. Maybe...He casts a long glance towards the fire again, staring at the letter.
"...Probably from the little ones..." He sighs, scratching at his beard. "Should read it, really should."
He hobbles out of his rocking chair, letting out a groan from the effort. The counter is a solid five or ten feet away, his eyes are too shot to tell anything closer...and, of course, his cane is off by the door for some reason. A few muttered curses and a dozen joints sounding like broken glass on stone, he manages to get out of the chair and to the counter.
He snatches the letter off of the counter, peeling the weak seal off of it. He scans the seal for any sign of who it’s from, letting out a groan.
“Nothing. Maybe they just lost their seal. Divines know they lose just about anything with half a thought about it, lots worse than a seal most of the time.” He grumbles.
"Lo and behold," He says, opening the letter to reveal a… fake tax collector's note. "Ah, damn you." He wads it up and throws it into the fire with a grunt. "Well, I'm gonna...pretend that was from the little ones." He lets out a tiny, dry cackle, grabbing his cane and a half-gnawed loaf of bread. He grabs his jacket from the coat rack, slipping it on with yet another grumble. He slides the loaf in his pocket, giving it a little tap to make sure it won’t fall out or some such travesty.
"Off to find them little rascals..." He closes the door to the shack, humming a little shanty under his breath as he hobbled on down the road, his cane giving loud taps against the cobbled stone.
Ria____
2. How old are you?
19
3. What country are you from?
USA
4. Have you read the King's Law, Code of Conducts, Official Lore, and the Player Guides yet?
Yep.
5. In your own words, how would you define metagaming and powergaming?
Metagaming is when characters have knowledge that they shouldn't have in character, usually from out of character.
Powergaming is when a character does things they shouldn't be able to do. This includes high power level "Goku" esque insanity and having excessive knowledge for your character.
6. Do we allow X-Raying mods or X-Ray texture packs on the server?
Nope. No X-Ray or unfair ore-mining mods/resource packs.
7. Name one of our current Mentors.
223Hero7
8. Tell us about yourself!
I'm Ria. Nineteen, living in NYC. Going to college currently, do a lot of writing and roleplay. A filthy bisexual communist with an inferiority complex...I'm basically typing a tinder bio at this point.
9. Do you have any examples of your work?
I write a lot, but it's all sci-fi. So, uh...Irrelevant I guess.
10. Did anyone refer you? If not, how did you find our server?
Ambillis wouldn't shush about it.
Character Name:
Paprika Caraway, "Pappy Paprika"
Character Age:
81
Character Race:
Human
Appearance:
A really short old man, with a sleek wooden cane. His hair is a dull white-grey, with ashy brown skin and distant grey-blue eyes. He wears a coat that used to be considered a split-flared waistcoat, but due to his habitual hunched stature and slowly decreasing height, now covers down to his knees.
(Optional) Picture of the Skin:
Written Test!
A fire crackled in the front of the room, casting a dull light on a man in a rocking chair. Paprika lets out a drawn-out sigh, raising a bushy eyebrow as he watches the fire. A letter was delivered today, by some scrawny kid who looked like he hadn’t eaten in a month. His chair was comfortable, well worn but obviously loved. The letter sits on a counter across the room, in a pile of bread crumbs, various glass bottles, and a few different pans. It was glaringly obvious that he should read the letter...but he doesn't particularly feel like it. Not today, or tomorrow. Too much effort. Maybe...He casts a long glance towards the fire again, staring at the letter.
"...Probably from the little ones..." He sighs, scratching at his beard. "Should read it, really should."
He hobbles out of his rocking chair, letting out a groan from the effort. The counter is a solid five or ten feet away, his eyes are too shot to tell anything closer...and, of course, his cane is off by the door for some reason. A few muttered curses and a dozen joints sounding like broken glass on stone, he manages to get out of the chair and to the counter.
He snatches the letter off of the counter, peeling the weak seal off of it. He scans the seal for any sign of who it’s from, letting out a groan.
“Nothing. Maybe they just lost their seal. Divines know they lose just about anything with half a thought about it, lots worse than a seal most of the time.” He grumbles.
"Lo and behold," He says, opening the letter to reveal a… fake tax collector's note. "Ah, damn you." He wads it up and throws it into the fire with a grunt. "Well, I'm gonna...pretend that was from the little ones." He lets out a tiny, dry cackle, grabbing his cane and a half-gnawed loaf of bread. He grabs his jacket from the coat rack, slipping it on with yet another grumble. He slides the loaf in his pocket, giving it a little tap to make sure it won’t fall out or some such travesty.
"Off to find them little rascals..." He closes the door to the shack, humming a little shanty under his breath as he hobbled on down the road, his cane giving loud taps against the cobbled stone.
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